The Lion King III: Forgotten Memory
by Simba's Other Daughter
Summary: A rogue from forgotten lineage comes to Pride Rock in search of peace, just as a dark rebellion causes chaos to ensue. The heir is lost, the king is distracted, and only the newcomer seems to be willing to stop the madness. Please read and review!


**A / N:** Do your eyes deceive you? No! Of course not. ;-) Yes, it's true, Simba's Other Daughter, novice writer of three years ago, has returned… and… gasp… with _better writing_! Now I'm thirteen (of legal age to actually be _on_ the site, might I add) and I now understand that The Lion King is not all about sequels and loads of cubs and clichés.

In any case… this _is_ a sequel… but not like the ones I used to write. No, no, no… I'm not going down _that_ path again. ;D

In any case, enjoy it if you can. I'm digging through all my old stories and correcting mistakes I myself have found when no one else had the guts to tell a ten-year-old she sucked. xD

But that isn't the point.

Now, here is my first _The Lion King _story that I fervently hope will do good to my web-name.

**The Lion King III**

Forgotten Memory

xx

Dulled azure eyes, drained of emotion and strength, fell upon the figure in the distance. Despite its great length away from where he stood, he knew what it was… and who was there. Rising against a dark, velvety sky and illuminated with light from the full moon, the silver palace of lions registered in his mind as the name for paradise.

Pride Rock, set in the kingdom of the great lion he'd heard about since birth. King Simba, the mighty lion who had overcome all of his obstacles to reach a place of high dignity and nobility.

Rising his light head weakly, the scrawny shadow of a figure glanced around him. Although at night the desert cooled considerably, his paws still burned, for the soil _never_ seemed to cool. The cracked ground around him lent only fiery agony to his rough, torn and bleeding paw pads. The wind buffeted his growing mane, not nearly as full as a grown lion's; in fact, this young male was only a yearling. His pelt was not the full length, his muscles were still soft under kitten's fur, and his mane was barely growing in, if at all.

It did seem to help some that his fur was so light. If his coat was darker, he'd be draining the energy from the sun – most likely, he'd have a heatstroke, and with no one to help him in this desolate wasteland, he wouldn't have made it to his objective place after all. The light, tawny gold coloring made for a good reflector against the damage-worthy rays from above, and his paws, a very pale, smooth, plush cream color, withstood the heat from the desert floor much better than a lion with dark feet would have.

Sighing dejectedly, he realized the great distance he was from Pride Rock, but then again realized it was even further in his dreams. As a younger child, he used to sit in his mother's folded forepaws and stare into her beautiful, lean face, as she gazed into her cub's eyes and told him mysterious, blissful tales of the magical land of the Pridelands, and of their Great Kings.

She'd also mentioned that this was oh-so-much better than the life he had been destined to lead, and that when she passed on into another world, or when the time came for her to leave him, she held great desires for him to go _there_… to the land of dreams. To the land of harmony, of course.

Pride Rock stil reared high in his imagination, and he wondered just how much of those wonders were true. If any of them proved false, would he care? If King Simba was not a noble ruler, but a cruel tyrant, would he have the moral strength to leave?

He realized just how high he'd placed these lands on that pedestal in his mind. If it fell from his grace, he didn't know if he'd be able to go on. Perhaps he'd stay anyway… although that was far from his mother's wishes, and even his own wishes.

Staring from where he sat, far away in a dark, humid desert, Pride Rock sat unmoving. Not a desert mirage, after all – but was it a mirage of a different kind? No telling, unless he reached his destination. Giving another glance behind him, as if to make sure the ghosts of his past weren't chasing him any further, a small smile cracked across his pale muzzle, and he heard his name being whispered.

Struggling to all fours, feeling his throat dry as the sands on which he padded, he longed to dunk his head into any source of water and drink until he burst. His stomach clawed at him from the inside, roaring like the lion he himself was. He hadn't eaten in two days, and the sun beating down on him from the desert was no help. Water, too, had been scarce, though yesterday he'd managed to find a small, half-withered plant and take from its green leaves any amount of moisture he could.

"Well, old boy," he murmured to himself softly, thinking he might be able to keep going if he heard a voice besides the wind's, "I guess it's time to keep going. Surely, I'll reach there soon…"

Without another word, the young adolescent lifted his head, and began to move again, knowing that, in a few hundred pawsteps, instead of cracked earth, his pads would be soothed by miles of plush green terrain.

_The sooner, the better,_ he thought bitterly, tail swishing behind him. _For sure._

xx

Dark shapes slithered against the midnight gloom, lean, sleek and streamlined, before a small group of the shadows, reeking felinity, gathered in a small circle. On the border between the Outlands and the Pridelands, darkness brewed, despite anyone's wishes.

Now, in the full glow of the round moon, these cats weren't so dark after all. Many of them had light, bristly tawny pelts or dull, dusky cream-brown coats. Many of them had red or brilliant yellow eyes, which proved luminous in the starlight.

The largest of the lionesses, a long-bodied female with the darkest fur color, a medium-value of chocolate, stepped forward, her mocha-tipped tail swishing rhythmically. Her eyes, a deep, brilliant rich violet (quite unusual, indeed, for such a lioness), held all in attention, some of the others' faces reflecting in her spherical pupils.

"Listen up, everyone," ordered the dark lioness, whom was obviously the leader. "We have work to do… does everyone know their parts?"

Another lioness, a very ordinary creamy-tan one, stepped forward, a malicious smirk on her maw. "Yes… we do." Shooting a look to the rest of the lionesses, she continued, "We made sure we wouldn't disappoint you."

"Right. Tomorrow, when they're unsuspecting… we attack. The first one to grab the brat and run is going to be highly rewarded." Here she eyed them all keenly, noting with approval the greedy glitter of avarice in her subjects' eyes. "Alright. Everyone, get some rest. We strike at noon… be prepared for success."

Leaping from the pedestal in the midst of her comrades, she slipped away, watching the rest of the fools clamber around each other excitedly. She curled her lip in distaste. Although she felt no loyalty to any of those lionesses, she certainly needed them in her plan.

Curling up under the shade of a larger sand rock, she settled down to rest, not concerned with keeping an eye on the camp. What was their camp, anyways? A dry, drought-encased wasteland? Hah. She knew very well that Zira, the lioness whom had formerly owned this lot of sand, had actually been banished here, but Xelina, the remnants of a forgotten pride, had rallied some greed-driven fools to help her get what _she_ wanted.

A kingdom with a good name, of course.

And, knowing the past mistakes of both Taka and Zira well, she knew the only thing left to do was take the heir to the Pridelands… for what would they be without that? Smiling coolly, she curled up tighter, feeling fatigue wash over her.

She knew exactly how to win from there.

xx

**A / N:** Well, there it is. If it isn't too much to ask for, please read and review! Criticism, comments and even flames are welcome.


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